


Right Where We're Supposed to Be

by doctorsdaughter



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Feelings, French Revolution, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Multi, OT3, Sad Ending, alternatue universe, barricaders, mentions of Cosette - Freeform, mentions of Eponine - Freeform, mentions of marius - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 05:51:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2801915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorsdaughter/pseuds/doctorsdaughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras tells Grantaire to leave. With nothing left, he joins the National Guard. How true are his loyalties?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Where We're Supposed to Be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maggie T.](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Maggie+T.).



> So this is wibbly wobbly timey-wimey. Basically, it's off of Tom Hooper's idea that the Guardsman grew up with Enjolras, only sadder. Don't hurt meeee! AND YES, GIRLS ARE AT THE BARRICADE. Fuq da police. Fuq any canon you know.

“Don’t you care?” was all Grantaire ever heard through the haze of drunkenness he never allowed himself to come out of. As long as he was in a haze of some sort, it was okay. It could be held to a dream. A dream that wouldn’t come true. There was no barricade, and they would continue their days at college and the university, complaining about schoolwork.

There would never be never any National Guard. They would never be in danger, especially his Apollo, Enjolras. No matter how much he drank, no matter how many pints and litres he’d drank, no matter how many times Joly would take his glass away and Courfeyrac would replace, his take on Enjolras would remain clear as day.

_You’re beautiful._

_You’re insane._

_Don’t do this._

_I don’t want you to leave._

Grantaire would stumble through the Musain, doing things that would specifically make Enjolras hate him more, because he thought -- he hoped -- that maybe, if Enjolras finally broke and said everything that Grantaire could see him swallowing, he might just hurt Grantaire enough. Because as much as it hurt to be ignored by his Enjolras, it would never hurt enough. It was always a faint numbing pain that he’d forget for a minute, and then a pang would remind him.

If the ABC knew this, there would be so many jokes about how he was nothing short of a masochist, willing to do anything Enjolras asked him to do. Which was nothing to say that it wasn’t true, just that he didn’t want to know this.

At his latest jest, which was towards Enjolras’s recent idea that no hope of working, and while everyone rallied behind Enjolras, Grantaire, as usual sat in the corner. When he laughed in the face of Enjolras, he saw him set his jaw.

Soon they were standing face to face, and if Enjolras knew how to actually fist fight and not behind a gun, Grantaire would be scared. But he didn’t, so he wasn’t. He smirked drunkenly in Enjolras’s face, and tried not to laugh as he realized it was possible to get even redder.

“Do you care?” Enjolras asked in a low tone, a tone that one got to when they were so angry they didn’t feel the need to yell. “Everything we worked for. Everything that we’ve been talking about for months. People have laid down their lives for--”

“For you. They’ve laid down their lives for you. We lost Eponine because of you. Who knows about other places in Paris who have heard tell of this mysterious tale and name who have put down their lives for a man who is only ideas and speeches.”

Enjolras was breathing heavily. “Get out of my Musain.”

“Listen here, _Apollo_. You may own a lot, but you don’t own the Musain. So I’ll continue to sit here and drink.”

“Get out, Grantaire,” Enjolras bellowed. For the first time since they met, there was nothing but anger and hatred in Enjolras’s eyes. Enough so that Grantaire listened. He snatched his old green shawl, and walked down the stairs, and into the street. Enjolras's voice followed him; “Go join the National Guard, where you belong.”

He looked up at the sky, and saw the stars in patterns that made him think of Eponine. He murmured to himself, things that were meant for Eponine, as he so often did. They were both the victims of unrequited love. He sat on the steps of the building, paper in his hand as he drew the last memory he had of her, and soon his pen was scratching on paper faster and paper was falling to the ground. Soon he had drawn sketches of his friends that sat in a pile in his lap. The only one missing was Enjolras.

To anyone who asked, it was because Enjolras was dead to him. However, the real reason was because, even with everything that happened, his beauty was still impossible for him to capture. He pilfered an envelope from a sleeping household, and wrote To Amis and stuck it under the door.

When he turned around, there were three guns on him with men in uniform. He immediately raised his hands in the air.

“Are you with them?” the man asked.

Grantaire didn’t know how to answer, so he looked down, scuffing his shoes.

The man lifted Grantaire’s head with his gun. “Are you with them?” he asked. After a few moments, he knew there was nothing to do. They were going to shoot him if he said yes, and if he said not anymore, they might anyway.

“No,” he said. “No I’m not. But I have information.”

“Come with us, soldier,” one of the National Guard grabbed him by the shirt, while Grantaire tucked his green shawl in his pocket. They were nice enough, most likely so he’d give them information. He ate better food and drank better mead than he’d had in a long time. He didn’t feel like he was a traitor, he was always one in Enjolras’s eyes. He took out his green shawl and rubbed the old fabric in his hand. They would give him a new name soon. One befitting of part of the National Guard. The ABC would rename someone R. He would just be a number on a soldier manifest. That was okay with him.

“21,” they finally named him. “You’re the Honor Guard of where you were found. You know the area well, where the revolts will be hiding.”

He nodded, cocking his gun. He saw the Musain, and a huge barricade in front of it. There wasn’t much new, it had only been two weeks since he’d been captured, and they’d specifically waited until Grantaire, or Luc, as he was called by his superiors. He cursed as he saw the barricade had only grown bigger. There was no way to divert. All he could do was continue to have them push back.

“Commander Luc, what are we doing?” He held his hand up in response. Guns started to poke out of the barricade and he cursed again. There was nothing else to do.

“Take down the barricade,” R yelled. “Take down the barricade leave the children to me and my order.”

Before he knew what was happening, screams could be heard by the people who once were his friends. Many of them retreated back to the Musain, many bodies laid sprawled on the barricade.

“I said no children,” R yelled. “We can take them in!”

They moved closer to the barricade, and on the otherside, the Amis retreated back. There were only a few left. Jehan had been caught in the crossfire, Gavroche had as well (a much better fate than growing up in the army), Marius was no where to be found, nor was the older man who had helped.

“Stay out here,” R yelled. “I’m going inside. Anyone follows me, no food for a week.” It was weird to have control like that, but he did.

Grantaire retreated up the stairs, where he saw Joly, Bossuet, and Chetta, huddled in a corner, the sheer look of horror and betrayal on their face. “Shoot us,” Bossuet said. “They’re here. They’re not going to listen to you forever.”

Grantaire’s eyes were wet, realizing what this would entail. “Do you forgive me?” It was a stupid question. Who could forgive the absolute treason he had committed?

Chetta stood up and hugged him. “We should have never let you go that night.” Joly and Bousset nodded. “Please, just let us go together.”

Grantaire’s gun hand was shaky for the first time ever. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. And with that, three of his friends were gone.

He heard the screams of Feuilly and Bahorel as one of his men shot up through the floorboards. He stepped back, sheer horror on his own face as he saw his two friends fall with no warning. Tears ran down his face. He wanted to get his friends that were left to leave. But it was impossible. If he showed mercy, he would be killed. If he showed any kindness, he would be killed. There was only one thing to do.

“ _Jacques_ , get up here.” Grantaire slowly took off his hat. He took off his military uniform, wrapped the shawl he had tucked away around him like it always had been, and found an unfinished jar of beer and drank it.

He walked over to the three people he had always aspired to be. The people he’d lost in trying to be them. Enjolras looked at him, and took a step to the left, leaving room for Grantaire between Enjolras and Courfeyrac.

Jacques ran up and saw what had happened. “Was this all a ruse?” he yelled at his once-commanding officer. “Did you lie to your government?”

“It was surprisingly easy. You're awfully stupid. What are you going to do, kill me?” Grantaire said, making the three friends around him laugh. Laughing in death. How ironic.

For the first time, in the last few moments of his life, he felt accepted by Enjolras. Enjolras’s arm was wrapped around him and Grantaire looked at him.

“To those who’ve fallen.” He raised a glass.

Enjolras nodded. “To France.”

\--

The blast came, and they were floating up to heaven. Enjolras held onto Grantaire, refusing to allow him anywhere besides with him. And as they went to heaven, they kissed right where they were supposed to. With their friends.

 

 


End file.
